Breaking Paint
by Sathaeri
Summary: In one last act of defiance, Shepard and crew rid the Normandy of anything identifying them with Cerberus. Miranda wouldn't be happy – or would she? M!Shep/Miranda oneshot. Set between the end of ME2 and the beginning of ME3. Some endgame spoilers for ME2. Probably not canon.


_**A/N:** Enormous thanks to **WhenNightmaresWalked** for beta-ing this story for me! Your suggestions helped a ton! I really don't think I could have made this better without you! :)_

_This was written quite a long time ago, hence why it still has to do with Mass Effect 2. I can't really browse Mass Effect stories right now because it's all like SPOILERS. SPOILERS EVERYWHERE. Ah well. At least I still have my imagination._

_Speaking of spoilers, there are some spoilers for the end of Mass Effect 2 in this story._

_Thank you for visiting and I hope you have a pleasant day. :)_

* * *

They'd already ripped the Cerberus seals off their clothes and had gone over the metal walls with new paint so the logo didn't show up anymore. They're really taking this thing to heart, which is surprising considering that everyone doing it had _voluntarily_ joined Cerberus. But their little act of rebellion at the Collector base is what fuels it most of all. Shepard likes to say that rebellion is good sometimes, and that's how he ever got to where he is now. Nobody could argue with that.

Miranda can't let herself off the hook, either. She knows what she did: she cut off the Illusive Man – _the_ Illusive Man – in communications. But he doesn't have a hold on her anymore. He doesn't have a hold on anyone here anymore.

"Approaching the Citadel now, Commander," Joker's voice calls over the intercom.

Miranda glances up from her familiar spot on the bed, her suit strewn across it like old laundry. She has been removing the Cerberus patch as well, but much more carefully than the crew. Her perfection was her father's goal, and while she knows she hates her father, she does admit that for someone of her caliber, perfection is pretty much the least she can do. _Not that it's easy._

The ship shifts as magnetic grips hold it in place on the Citadel. She can almost feel the excitement of the crew in their paint-chipping equipment.

_Paint._ She smirks, snipping yet another thread. There were so many years past, so many advancements – and they still used paint. Strong, fortified paint, not the flimsy kind, but paint nonetheless. She hopes Joker will at least supervise it, if he can. No doubt he would viciously pounce on anyone who he thought might be hurting his "baby."

A heavy thump at the metal door makes her jump. "Hey, Miranda," Shepard's voice calls. "You coming or what?"

She panics for a moment, which scares her. She never panics. But he is out there and she is in here with sweatpants and a tee shirt and the door locked. He couldn't get in if he tried.

"I'll come out later," she promises. "I'm a little busy at the moment."

"Well, all right," he answers. "Just don't take too long or you'll miss out on all the fun!" She hears his hefty footsteps as he runs back, and she sighs in relief. Shepard is oftentimes a little too inquisitive for her tastes, the type of person who'd ask about a million questions before actually agreeing to anything. It wasn't really that bad to do so, of course, but she prefers finding things herself rather than hearing them from someone she doesn't know to trust. But she trusts him, doesn't she...

She shakes her head to clear her mind. _Getting too off topic now. Stay focused._

She cleanly slices another thread, idly pretending she is someone else.

**~o~O~o~**

Miranda emerges from the Normandy to find them in a small hangar surrounded with windows. They look out into space, and suddenly she is reminded of his eyes, the windows into his soul that look into the stars, and she remembers that night. She closes her own eyes. His gentle smile, his soft breath on her neck, his touch... somehow with these she feels like she is at home, until she remembers she doesn't actually have a home anymore, and the only thing that really qualifies is the Normandy. Though sometimes even that doesn't seem like enough. She knows better than many that a house is not necessarily a home.

It almost makes her cry to think that in such a huge galaxy she is essentially homeless.

With a deep breath, she opens her eyes and stares blankly at the sign in front of her.

**Warning:**

**Centrifugal pseudogravity in use on the Citadel**

**Dropped objects and persons jumping will fall towards the windows**

A voice tugs her out of her thoughts. "Miranda!"

She turns. Shepard is standing there now, a sheepish grin on his face. "You're finally out. Do you want to join us?"

A small, uncomfortable-looking smirk shows up on her face, and she knows it. "Maybe later," she says, giving him an apologetic look.

"Why not?"

She sighs inwardly. _Here we go with those damn questions again._

"I just... don't feel up to it today," she lies.

Shepard stands there, tilting his head inquisitively, before stepping forward. "Hey," he says, touching her shoulder, and Miranda lets her small smirk become the slightest hint of a smile. "I can see something's eating at you. Are you all right?"

She gazes at him for a moment, and in that moment she thinks. As curious as he is, he is also extremely observant and intelligent, enough to rival herself. A sense of despair wraps itself around her. All that genetic modification, all the breeding designed to make her perfect – and yet there is this wholesome young man, completely natural, who accomplishes more than she could ever dream.

"Wait," he says. "It's not about the whole 'leaving Cerberus' thing, is it? It's not too much for you?"

"Of course it isn't," she snaps. She can't help it.

"Oh, I know what it is." He crosses arms, trying not to sound smug, but failing. "It's all about us, isn't it?"

Miranda furrows her brow and almost glares. "If you're so smart, why don't you just tell me exactly what you think the problem is?"

"You don't trust me."

She stiffens. "What?"

"You don't trust me," he repeats. "You're wondering if I actually like you, or if I'm just using you."

"Are you?" she asks.

Shepard shakes his head. "No." Then he adds, "Do you need proof?"

She shrugs. "That would be nice."

He shows her the paint-removing equipment in his hands. "This."

"That?" She can't stop a snarky, perplexed expression from appearing on her face. "Paint removers. _That's_ your proof?"

Shepard smiles, that same smile he'd used when they spent the night together in their own corner of the world. "Cerberus isn't your home anymore," he says, taking her chin with one free hand. "You and I both know that."

"Then..." It takes all of her will to stop the tears from falling from her eyes. "Where is my home?"

"On the Normandy," he answers simply. "With me."

She is silent. He brings her face closer to his and stares into her soul through the windows. Without another word, he gives her a single tender kiss on the head and walks off.

Miranda just stands there, her heart melting.

**~o~O~o~**

Joker and the crew are done. Miranda sees them march joyously onto the Citadel, probably for a drink or two before heading back to work. She prefers not to join them. Drinking was never really her idea of a good time.

She thinks about what Shepard had said to her as she gives the ship one last examination, checking for any remnants of Cerberus paint. Her home is with him – truly? She almost scoffs at his words – but not at his honesty. She can see he was telling the truth, and it makes her smile despite herself.

A gleam like the sun catches her eye. She walks over, and finds the weakened remains of one last logo, barely clutching on to the metal. Carefully she peels the last of the yellow paint off and, with a wry countenance, holds it between her fingertips up to the light.

_This is it_, she thinks. This is the last piece of anything Cerberus on their ship. The breaking point. Is she really going to do it? Is she really changing allegiances after so long? Is this what she is supposed to do?

She pauses, just long enough to ask herself one more question – the most important question – and answer it.

_Where is my home?_

With a smile, Miranda lets go.

She dusts her hands off and watches as the golden flakes fall slowly towards the windows.


End file.
